I'll Get You Out Of Here
by jamdropsmarblecakes
Summary: What if the knock to the head Felicity received in 2.03 was more than just a simple concussion?
1. Chapter 1

**This is based off of a prompt from beijingdoll on Tumblr, where she questioned what would happen if Felicity hitting her head had more serious consequences than a slight concussion.**

**The title comes from a song by Busby Marou called "(I'll) Get You Out of Here"...**

* * *

"I'm not sure I can drive home," Felicity rushed, steadying herself on her desk in the lair.

"You okay?" Oliver was right next to her in an instant, one hand on the small of her back, the other clasping her elbow with an exquisite gentleness he reserved only for her.

"I'm just a bit dizzy," Felicity laughed nervously, tucking strands of hair behind her ear and adjusting her glasses.

"You're alright," Oliver assured her, "I'll drive you home."

"I'll lock up here," Diggle spoke up, coming out of the change room.

Oliver nodded curtly in Diggle's direction, never taking his eyes off Felicity.

He helped her into her jacket, gently coaxing her long hair out to flow over her back.

She clumsily picked up her handbag and Oliver, who was yet to step more than foot away from Felicity, gently guided her towards the staircase.

"How's the egg?" Oliver whispered, a small smile on his face as they slowly took the stairs.

"Eh, you know, eggy," Felicity shrugged, wincing as her hand found the large bump on the back of her head.

"We'll take your car, so that you have it for work in the morning," Oliver gestured in the general direction of her red Panda.

Felicity obliged with a small nod of her head. Oliver's eyebrows drew together.

"You okay?"

"Yeah…"

Oliver stopped abruptly, stepping in front of Felicity and placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Look at me," he demanded.

Her glazed blue eyes met his, trying awfully hard to focus on his dazzling ones.

"Come on," he sighed, "let's get you home."

He opened the car door for her and she slowly lowered herself, not even flinching as Oliver lent across her, buckling her seatbelt.

Oliver glanced briefly at her, before ducking backwards, closing the passenger door and racing around to the driver's side.

"What is that noise?" Oliver asked, after getting in and turning the keys in the ignition.

"Fan belt," Felicity was keeping her answers short.

"Have you had it looked at?" he asked, reversing out of the car park.

"Yeah, but I've not had the time to put it in the shop," she replied.

"What about that noise?" he raised an eyebrow, shifting into first gear.

"Oh, it's something else, I don't know, they wanted to keep it for longer to diagnose that problem, I needed to get to work," she waved her hand in the air dismissively.

"I can help you out," Oliver told her, "you can have a day off, you just got to ask, Felicity."

"Yeah," Felicity sighed, closing her eyes longer than Oliver liked.

"Eyes open, Felicity," he warned.

Her eyes shot open, "Yep."

Oliver reached across and placed his hand on her thigh. He felt her tense up under his touch and relaxed a little. She was still alert enough to get squirmy when he was close.

"It's been a while since someone drove me somewhere," she sighed, a little wistful.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just me at home, you know, and I'm not rich enough for a driver, I don't have a boyfriend, nothing like that, it's just me, I'm one hundred per cent self-reliant," she explained.

"I thought, you know, you," Oliver found himself suddenly uncomfortable and cleared his throat to relieve some tension, "I thought you were seeing that guy?"

"That guy?" Felicity repeated.

"Yeah, what's his name?"

"I have no idea who you're talking about Oliver, but I detect a hint of jealousy or concern," Felicity chimed, perking up a little.

"I'm not jealous," Oliver spat, "or concerned."

"I appreciate that you are," Felicity smiled.

"I'm not!" Oliver exclaimed.

Oliver turned his attention back to the road signs, knowing that they were nearing Felicity's. Felicity didn't take her eyes off him. He had his jaw set tight, pulsing a little as he fought to remain calm. He didn't know how easy it was for her to read him. That pulsing jaw of his was a dead giveaway of his jealous streak.

* * *

After her third attempt at getting her key in the lock, Oliver closed his hands over hers and gently pried the keys from her.

"Come on," he cooed, "let me do it."

She sighed, a little frustrated but let her hands drop to her side. One of Oliver's hands was still on the small of her back. He could feel everything about her through that small touch. Just how much her balance was thrown, how she was holding herself rigid in an attempt to stay awake.

As Felicity set her handbag down on the buffet just inside the door, Oliver's phone beeped.

"It's Diggle, he's outside waiting to take me home," Oliver explained.

"Alright, I'll see you in the morning," Felicity moved to show him out the door.

"I'm going to tell him to go without me, I'll stay here with you, make sure you're okay overnight," Oliver explained, his fingers busily dancing on the phone screen.

"There's only one bed in my apartment, we'd have to share," Felicity stated.

Oliver paused, glancing up from his phone, mild amusement on his face.

"There is also the sofa," Felicity sighed, squeezing her eyes tight in an attempt to save her some embarrassment.

"The sofa will be fine, Felicity," Oliver assured her.

"Apparently my brain to mouth filter is just as non-existent when I have a concussion," Felicity walked over to her chocolate leather sofa and sat down heavily.

"Can I make you a tea?" Oliver offered, making himself at home and opening cupboards and drawers in her kitchen.

"It's nice that you're finally playing doctor with me," she grinned.

"We've got to share it around a bit, I can't always be the doted on one," Oliver felt the pull of a smile at the corners of his mouth too.

"So tea?" he repeated, pulling two mugs from the cupboard.

"Tea bags are in the pantry, fridge, milk, in the fridge," she slurred.

Oliver looked up at Felicity, her last works not sounding right to him. She looked distressed.

"Lis?" he questioned, as he felt his heart beat pick up.

"Fridge, milk," she repeated, slightly slurred, her eyes distant.

"Felicity?" Oliver raced around the breakfast bar, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"What's up, Oliver?" Diggle answered.

"Get up here, NOW!" barked Oliver, not even hanging up as he dropped the phone on the floor in his rush to get to Felicity.

Her eyes were rolling around in her head and she slouched heavily against the back of the sofa.

"Lis, count to ten," Oliver cupped her face.

Her eyes shot open but closed again just as quickly.

"Felicity," there was a guttural desperation in his pleas now.

He shook her lightly, but that only made her head loll forward and he had to catch her as she crashed into his chest.

"Felicity, open your eyes."

Getting no response except for the feeling of her completely lax against him, Oliver scooped her up and made for the front door.

As he fumbled with the door handle, eventually managing to open the heavy front door, Oliver saw Diggle step out of the elevator.

The ex-serviceman seemed to pause and stare at Felicity, limp and pale in Oliver's arms, before he shook his head and raced over.

"What happened?" he turned Felicity's face gently towards him.

"I don't know, Dig, we were, we were just talking about making tea, and she got confused and her words slurred together and-"

"Come on, let's get her to the car," Diggle pressed the call button for the elevator.

* * *

Oliver sat impatiently in the family waiting room.

_"She hit her head," was all he'd been able to tell the doctor as they raced into the emergency room._

_"She hit her head," he had repeated as a trolley was wheeled in front of him and he gently placed Felicity on it._

_"She-she hit her head," he had whispered as he was bumped out of the way by hospital staff._

_"She hit her head," he had sighed as she was wheeled away out of his reach._

"She hit her head," he said out loud and Diggle glanced over at him.

Oliver's eyes were darting everywhere and Diggle moved to the empty seat next to him.

He put his arm around Oliver's back, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze.

"She just hit her head, Dig," he sighed, his breath hitching as tears fell.

* * *

**So, there we go, I know that most of you would have read this and the next chapter already, but I'm bouncing some ideas around with a few people for the following chapters.**

**Also, if you've got any ideas, find me on Tumblr.**

**Thanks guys.**


	2. Chapter 2

**So, here we are, the second, already read, soon to be added to fic that was originally just a little drabble.**

* * *

Oliver was numb as he sat in the plastic chair, staring seemingly at nothing. If he turned his head a certain way, down and slightly to the left, he could smell Felicity on his shirt. He had her jewellery in his jacket, slung over his knee. It jingled as he impatiently bounced one leg.

_"Felicity, come on," he had pleaded the entire way to the hospital._

_He cradled her in his lap, her head held to his chest with one hand, the other snaking over her chest and around her back._

_Gently easing her away from his body, he looked at her face. She was pale, her lips tinged blue, but he could feel her breathing, just. Her mouth was slack, as if she was sleeping, but the dark circles under her eyes were an indication that she wasn't resting._

_He pushed non-existent loose strands of hair off her face._

_"We should have gone straight to the hospital," he said._

_"Oliver…" Diggle warned, but the young man didn't seem to hear him._

_"Oh god," he sighed, pulling her close again, grabbing her hand and squeezing it._

Diggle clearing his throat and standing up drew Oliver's attention to someone coming towards them.

"Miss Smoak's family?" he questioned.

"Close enough," Diggle nodded.

"I was Miss Smoak's surgeon."

"How is she?" Diggle asked.

"She had a subdural bleed in the meningeal layer between the dura mater and the arachnoid," he explained.

"Oh god," Diggle whispered, and Oliver looked at him, horrified.

"It was very messy in there," he continued, "and we worked to lessen the compression of the brain and to locate the source of the blood and suture the blood vessels."

Oliver knew no words, he was unable to string a sentence together, he couldn't ask any questions. He looked over at Diggle, his mouth opening then closing. His eyebrows creased in desperation and Diggle placed a hand on his forearm.

"Can we see her?" Diggle asked.

"Of course, she is just being moved from recovery in to the ICU brain trauma unit, if you head up a level and follow the signs you'll see it, it will be at least half an hour until they get her settled in."

"Thank you," Diggle nodded, guiding Oliver back over to the chair, a firm hand making him sit.

Oliver was faintly aware of Diggle pressing a plastic cup of water into his hand.

"Drink."

Only after swallowing a mouthful did Oliver realise how thirsty he was, his tongue sticking to the roof of his dry mouth as he tried to keep the water down.

Glancing at his watch, he realised they'd been there for nearly nine hours. He was startled at how long Felicity's surgery had taken.

The sun would be rising on a beautiful day in Starling City, and Oliver couldn't fathom that the entire city wasn't here, in the family waiting room, waiting to hear news on Felicity's condition.

* * *

Exactly half an hour later, Oliver was stood at the nurses' station in the ICU.

"Felicity Smoak?" he asked, his voice almost shrill in his ear.

"And you are?" she asked, glancing up from a folder she was busily scribbling in.

"Oliver Queen, this is my body guard, John Diggle, we bought Miss Smoak into the emergency room last night," Oliver had managed to recover some of his composure and put on his CEO voice.

"She's just across the hall," the nurse pointed over her shoulder, "they've just finished settling her in. If you have any questions, just come and see me."

Oliver smiled tightly and nodded his thanks.

She smiled back but looked sad, like she felt sorry for him.

Why did she feel sorry for him?

It only took Oliver crossing the floor and entering the doorless room to figure out why the nurse had looked so forlorn.

Oliver spun back around but was prevented from running in the opposite direction by Diggle, who had been prepared for the state Felicity would be in and Oliver's reaction to it.

"I was not expecting this," Oliver hissed, trying to side step Diggle and leave.

"Don't go, man, what are you doing?" Diggle asked, a little exasperated.

"I thought she'd be awake, sitting up, smiling, getting sick of everyone fussing over her," he snarled a reply, "I didn't think it would be like this."

Oliver still had his back to Felicity's room and Diggle glanced over Oliver's left shoulder.

Felicity was on a ventilator, flat on her back, with a thick bandage, already a little stained with blood, wrapped around her apparently bald head. There were also three tubes that ran out of the bandages that were filling with a red, cloudy fluid, draining all the excess fluid in her skull.

"I explained this to you in the waiting room," he spoke in a low and quiet voice, trying to reason with Oliver, "I told you that it would be serious."

"I-I didn't hear you," Oliver finally met Diggle's steady gaze, "I was too, I dunno…"

Oliver shrugged feebly.

"No, Dig, I can't see her like this," he whispered. Was his bottom lip quivering? If it was, Diggle was kind enough to pretend not to notice.

"You got to," Diggle replied.

"No." Oliver's reply was firm and he even stomped his foot, hands bunched into white-knuckled fists at his side.

Diggle would have laughed at the childish mannerisms had the situation not been so serious.

_"Man up, Queen," Felicity laughed, throwing her heeled feet up on her computer desk._

_"Felicity," he replied gruffly, with that warning in his voice that dared her to speak to him like that again._

_"Oh, you big baby, come on," she had insisted._

Oliver's features softened.

"It's alright, man, I'm not going anywhere," Diggle replied, coaxing Oliver to turn around.

_"We're almost there, Oliver, she's going to be okay," Diggle glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Oliver, with his lips pressed to the inside of Felicity's wrist, his mouth moving as he spoke soflty._

_Diggle didn't mean to hear, but he did. _

_Oliver was repeating the same phrase, over and over again, but it wasn't in English. Diggle wasn't sure what language it was, Oliver knew too many, but it was desperate and filled with love._

Whatever it was, Oliver was muttering it again, nearly stumbling as he got closer to the bed. Diggle, half a step behind him, caught Oliver under the arm.

He stared at the floor.

Diggle's comforting hand on his shoulder was not entirely dissimilar to all the times he vaguely remembered Felicity touching his shoulder. Yes, her hands were smaller, and no doubt warmer, but the gesture was all he needed to feel a pang of sorrow.

He regretted not paying more attention, and not being able to feel the squeeze of her fingers on his skin. He could remember her face though, sometimes frowning, sometimes concerned, sometimes disapproving and sometimes giggling uncontrollably. But always there.

That's all he wanted to see.

He was always sort of embarrassed to ask her about her plans for the future. It always felt like he bullied her into dedicating her life to him and the cause. But she was good. She often subtly hinted, with things that she did and said, that she was in for the long haul.

He felt it was reasonable for him to assume this, assume that she'd never leave, but Felicity was a tricky person and she never revealed herself to anyone entirely. He liked to be kept on his feet, but not knowing also unsettled him.

Oliver Queen was unsettled.

* * *

**Ta daa!**

**Review/favourite/follow...**

**Whatever floats your boat!**

**Also, homework for this week is to listen to the song mentioned at the beginning of chapter one and let me know what you think!**

**Cheers guys.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Finally, a never before seen chapter. Hurrah! You'll have to excuse my sometimes faulty medical knowledge, I deal with dead people and crime scenes, not living people in hospitals... That, and I bake for a second income. Sorry. *shrugs***

**I am about to overload on the angst... So, be prepared.**

* * *

Laurel paused in the doorway to Felicity's room. Oliver was sat against the wall at the foot of her bed. He had his knees half bent, elbows resting on his thighs, and was furiously, but unconsciously, picking at the cuticle on his thumb.

As far as Laurel could tell, he was staring at all the monitors that surround Felicity's bed. He looked like he hadn't been home since the accident. He didn't look any more tired than his standard state of being, but the small amount of stubble that he usually sported had given way to what could almost be considered a beard. And the beard added at least ten years to his boyishly handsome face.

"Ollie," she sighed, walking into the room.

He didn't jump, didn't glance in her direction, didn't even stop picking at his nail.

"Oliver," she tried again, bending down to place a hand on his arm.

His hands stilled.

She took that as a greeting and sat down next to him, their upper arms touching.

Laurel looked to where Oliver was looking. She couldn't see anything but the screens. The foot of the bed blocked the view of Felicity, making Laurel wonder what Oliver was watching for.

"Oliver, what happened?" Laurel spoke softly.

Oliver took a minute to process the question, remembering the cover story he and Diggle had come up with.

He took a deep breath, running his hands over his head and clasping them at the back of his neck.

"She was just helping me with some stuff at Verdant, Thea had been on my case about the wireless dropping out, and, I dunno, I guess that the cleaners had missed a spilt drink, or hadn't gotten to it yet, she slipped and she hi- she just hit her head."

"And what are they saying?"

Oliver shrugged.

"They're saying," a voice spoke from the corner, making Laurel jump.

"Jesus!" Laurel exclaimed, warily eyeing Oliver's bodyguard.

"They're saying," Diggle tried again, an apologetic look on his face, "the brain tissue isn't bleeding anymore so they removed the burr hole drainage tubes, but there is still a lot of bruising so they have to wait for her to wait to wake up and then they can assess what, if any, damage there is."

"Oh, Ollie," Laurel placed a hand on his leg, immediately feeling tense up. "Does my Dad know?"

Oliver shrugged again.

"I'll call him this afternoon."

"That'd be good," Oliver nodded.

"How long have you two been here?"

"I don't know, too long, probably."

Glancing at Diggle, Laurel saw him hold up four fingers.

"Do you want to get some coffee? Maybe some lunch? A razor?" she nudged him playfully.

"Yeah," he stood up and left the room, not even looking in Felicity's direction.

Once Felicity was out of his field of vision, Oliver turned back to Diggle.

"Call me, if anything changes," Oliver ordered.

Diggle moved to the chair by Felicity's bed.

"You're driving that boy mad," he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

He searched Felicity's face, the ventilator creasing one side of her mouth into an almost smile.

"He won't even look at you, he's sitting on the floor, the man has barely moved," Diggle sighed.

He sat back, his hands clasping each other on his stomach, as he placed his feet, crossed at the ankles, on the small table next to Felicity's bed.

"We're here, Felicity," Diggle sighed.

* * *

Oliver felt slightly better after a cup of coffee and a sandwich, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong.

He'd said goodbye to Laurel at her car and then found his way back to the ICU as quickly as he could.

Oliver had stepped out of the elevator and saw Diggle standing outside Felicity's room pacing back and forth.

"What's happening?" he asked, fearing the worst.

"They're taking her off the ventilator, lessening the barbiturates, essentially bringing her out of the induced coma," Diggle explained.

"Why didn't you ring me?"

"I did, but you weren't answering your damn phone."

Oliver reached into the pocket of his suit pants and discovered that Diggle's snapped accusation was correct, three missed calls and two text messages.

Diggle watched as he did that thing that he always did when he was a little frustrated with someone and a little annoyed at himself at the same time. He pursed his lips and took a deep breath through his nose, releasing it in a rush.

"Mr. Queen, Mr. Diggle," they were approached by the head nurse they had become so familiar with over the past few days.

"Yep," Oliver turned to her.

"It'll take a little while, but we're hoping to see a response from Felicity in the next few hours, she's off the ventilator and breathing on her own, we've taken her off the barbiturates, which we were using as a heavy sedative, so hopefully we'll see those effects reversed in two to three hours and we'll be better able to assess the cognitive damage."

"Okay, sure," Oliver replied and brushed passed her, rushing into the room.

"Thank you," Diggle nodded at her.

"You're welcome," she placed a hand on Diggle's arm as he moved to pass her, "Sit tight, it'll be a while."

* * *

A while it was.

The two of them sat there, waiting impatiently, sometimes pacing the room. A few times, Oliver left to release pent up frustrations by bolting up and down the fire stairs.

"How long have we been waiting?" Oliver asked, staring at Felicity.

"Just over three hours," Diggle glanced at his watch.

"They said she'd be awake by now," Oliver replied.

"I know, man, I know, but it's up to Felicity now," Diggle replied.

Truth be told, he was just as anxious as Oliver. He'd set a stopwatch and as it passed three hours, he began to get twitchy and nervous too.

"If she doesn't wake up, Dig," Oliver threatened.

"She will."

"Don't feed me that crap, John."

DIggle raised his eyebrows at Oliver using his first name, but Oliver was on his feet now, pacing again.

"It's not crap, Oliver," Diggle remained seated and calm.

He watched the younger man walk the same pattern he'd been walking all afternoon. Back and forth, back and forth. Then he'd sit for a minute. Then resume his pacing.

"Jesus, Oliver, sit down," Diggle eventually snapped.

Oliver glared at him, but obliged, sitting heavily in the plastic chair.

"And stay seated," Diggle added.

Oliver leant forward, covering his hands with his face.

"This is bullshit," his resigned sigh was muffled.

Diggle stayed silent and Oliver remained still, hunched over himself, until he was alerted to the smallest rustling of bed sheets.

His head snapped up, meeting Diggle's eyes for an instant before they were both on their feet, Diggle going to the door to get a nurse, Oliver going straight to Felicity, grabbing her twitching hand.

"Felicity," Oliver whispered, as his other hand tenderly cupped her face. She turned into the warmth of his hand and Oliver felt a goofy smile spread across his face.

A nurse appeared on the other side of the bed, looking at monitors and flicking through Felicity's chart.

"How long has her hand been twitching?" the nurse asked.

"Only a couple of minutes," Oliver answered, looking down at the hand in question, realising it still was, that the movement which Oliver so often associated with waking up, might not be.

"Felicity?" the nurse placed the knuckles of her fist on Felicity's sternum and pressed down.

Felicity groaned a little, arching toward the pain and then relaxing as the nurse relented.

Oliver went to grab Felicity's hand again, but before he could, the twitch travelled up her arm and within seconds her whole body went alarmingly stiff before her limbs twitched erratically.

The nurse pressed the call button on Felicity's bed head and all of a sudden there were three more people in the room.

Felicity gave a small shriek that made Oliver flinch as he was gently pushed away from the bed.

He couldn't take his eyes off her convulsing form, the veins in her neck and forehead popping up and when Oliver looked back to her face, her eyes were open, looking at him, but not at all focussed on him. The guilt and worry clawed at his stomach, leaving an ache in his chest.

"Felicity," he said under his breath as he watched her eyes roll back, the striking blue pupils giving way to the eerie whites, "I'm so sorry."

* * *

**Thank you to everyone who is following this! Holy cow! **


	4. Chapter 4

**The amount of reviews, favourites and follows on this little story is amazing and I am feeling an immense amount of pressure, stupid, I know, but thank you for reading, from the bottom of my heart, honestly.**

**The way I see 2.03 going down (and for the point of my story) is that Lance doesn't know that Diggle is also involved with the vigilante. During the hunt for the Doll Maker, Diggle stayed in the car the entire time, and Lance only uses Felicity as a go between, making me think that he believes Felicity is the vigilante's only link with the world. Correct me if I'm wrong.**

* * *

Oliver was slowly rubbing his chin, eyes closed, concentrating on breathing.

How stupid could he have been, to not get Felicity checked out? He was acutely aware of the feeling of self-loathing that Felicity had worked so hard to help him shelve. The immense responsibility Oliver felt for her in that moment was enough to make his skin crawl, the resolve to stick by her even stronger now.

He was internally berating himself for, firstly, letting Felicity go undercover, and then not being close enough to stop her from getting hurt, and finally, not being attentive enough to recognise that Felicity was fading fast as he drove her home.

"Queen!" Oliver heard the familiar voice of Quentin Lance.

"No," Oliver whispered, feeling Diggle stand up from next to him.

"Sir," Diggle said.

"I want to talk to him," Lance demanded.

"Let's walk and talk," Diggle suggested.

Oliver opened his eyes and watched the two men walking away having a heated, but hushed, conversation.

"Mr. Queen?" a head stuck out of Felicity's room.

Oliver jumped up, adjusting the collar of his shirt, and then reaching around to tuck it in at the back.

"Come on in, I'll explain a few things to you," she disappeared.

Hot on her heels, Oliver followed, keeping his head down, not wanting to see Felicity.

"She opened her eyes for a little bit after the seizure, which is a good sign, both her pupils are equal and reactive to light, which is another good sign."

"Yes, but what caused the seizure?" Oliver shifted on his feet impatiently.

"There are a few possibilities, one being that this was a one off, that there was perhaps a sensory overload as she was waking up, it's quite common in people with traumatic brain injuries, the other possibility is that, due to the severity of the trauma and the size of the bleed, this is something she is going to have to live with now."

"You mean, she's going to have more? It's going to be an everyday thing?" Oliver took on his negotiating stance, one hand in his pocket, the other out in front of him.

"There is a chance," the nurse replied.

"It's going to destroy her," Oliver whispered.

"She also seems to have weakness down her left side, which may also go away with some rehabilitation and simple time and patience," she continued.

"Stop," Oliver demanded, shaking his head.

"You'll have more questions, sir," she said quietly, "I'll be here to answer them."

He chose that moment to glance over at the hospital bed. They had lifted the bed head and given Felicity some pillows. She was half awake, watching warily through slitted eyes.

A wretched sob escaped her chest.

He didn't say anything, but reached her hospital bed in one stride and hugged her gently.

"Don't cry," he whispered.

But she cried. He rocked her against his body until she couldn't cry anymore. Everything was hurting her at once.

Oliver looked so miserable. He looked old and tired and she felt like it was all her fault.

"Felicity, please don't cry," he knuckled away her tears with shaking hands, and then took her hands.

"Please," she whispered, "please go."

His eyebrows creased.

"Go!" she clumsily pointed to the door.

In doing so, she made Oliver acutely aware of the weakness that the nurse had spoken about.

He let go of her right hand but didn't leave, instead sitting on the bed, a hand on her thigh.

"Diggle is here too, so is Lance," Oliver explained, "and we're going to be here for as long as you need us."

"No."

Oliver, with an eyebrow raised in question, looked at the nurse who was flitting around the end of the bed.

"Felicity, you're going to need some support," the nurse offered, "you're going to need rehab and friends to help you out for a little while."

"No," she said again, just as determined as the first time.

She was getting tired though, her body relaxing back against the bed, her eyes threatening to close.

"'Liver," she sighed, her eyes closing but not opening again.

"Oliver?" Diggle spoke up from behind him.

"She was awake," Oliver announced, no emotion in his voice, "she wanted us to leave, she doesn't want us here."

"Queen," Quentin made himself known, "how is she?"

"She's angry," Oliver turned to face them, tears threatening to spill down his face.

"It completely normal," the nurse assured them.

"What can we do?" Lance stepped closer to the bed.

"Be patient, be supportive, just be here when she wakes up," she slid the chart back into the slot at the end of the bed and smiled at them as she left.

"What happened?" Lance asked Oliver, as the billionaire turned away from the two men, "I knew I should have checked on her after the other night."

"The other night?" Diggle asked,

Ignoring him, Lance questioned Oliver, "Does this have anything to do with her working with the vigilante?"

"I don't know," Oliver lied, picking up Felicity's limp hand and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

Felicity remembered waking up a few times, seeing Oliver or Diggle's face every time. They had spoken forgotten comforting words and she let herself get taken back under the fold of unconsciousness quickly and easily.

"Oliver," she woke with a start.

A hand squeezed hers and a face hovered in her line of sight. Oliver's lips were moving but it took a few seconds for her sense of hearing to catch up.

"-okay, you're going to be fine, we'll get you patched up and out of here soon," he was speaking gently, with a level tone that Felicity knew meant that things weren't as fine as he made them sound.

Her afternoon (or perhaps her morning, she wasn't sure) was filled with one sided conversation with doctors, rehabilitation specialists and counsellors.

Oliver was there the entire time, mostly out of the way, in the corner, one arm across his chest, the other hovering near his mouth. It was like he was trying incredibly hard not to gnaw all his fingernails off.

He was dressed differently to what he had been the first time she woke up. Instead of his suit pants and crisp white shirt, he was now wearing jeans and a blue sweater. She wanted to get out of bed, walk over to him and squeeze him tightly. Instead, she steadfastly refused to look at him.

She'd lost count of how many people she'd listened to, trying to explain her condition in layman's terms.

She was aware of her left arm and leg feeling particularly heavy and when she wanted to shuffle in the bed, she needed to physically move herself. Her speech was something she noticed was affected too, she found that words were missing when she tried to think of something to say.

Because of this, she spent a lot of the afternoon nodding which left her with a sore neck.

She reached up to rub her neck, feeling clumsier than usual, and as she closed her eyes and sighed, she felt Oliver's hands gently push hers out of the way, working at the knots in her left side.

Felicity went to tuck her hair behind her ears but jerked away from Oliver when she realised she couldn't feel her long hair.

"Felicity," Oliver rushed, realising what Felicity had just discovered.

She sobbed, bringing her knees up and moving to the far side of her hospital bed.

"Why you here?" she cried.

"Because, this is my fault," Oliver tried to reason.

Felicity shook her head, this time highly sensitive to the lack of hair swishing around her shoulders.

"WHY?" she yelled, the knowledge of her irrationality lost as her muddled brain tried to make sense of everything.

"Because, you're my friend," Oliver closed the gap between them by sitting on the bed and taking her in his arms.

She was baulked at first, refusing to melt against his warm body. Slowly but surely, she wrapped one arm around his chest, the other propped between them.

Felicity hiccupped and Oliver tucked her closer to his side.

"You're my friend, Felicity," Oliver repeated, "and I love you."

* * *

**Thanks again guys.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Alright, sorry for the lack of updates. I received a few horrendous (putting it lightly) PMs regarding this fic and got a little disheartened. For those that ARE sick of the Felicity whumping, there's probably a chapter and a half left of that.**

**Be kind in your criticism, please.**

* * *

Felicity found that she had only a vague memory of the following week.

Sometimes she awoke with an extraordinary feeling of fatigue and, in the few minutes she was able to stay awake, asked Oliver if she'd had another seizure. Thankfully, the answer was always no.

There was lots of physical work to be done, getting up and moving around, begrudgingly with the aid of a walking frame at first, and then a crutch and finally, a simple walking stick, which made her feel pretty cool.

Her speech was still giving her grief when she was discharged and she found it incredibly frustrating being only able to give monosyllabic answers to everyone's questions.

She felt different, found herself becoming irritable far quicker than she used to. She prided herself on her patience but the smallest things left her feeling tetchy and cantankerous.

She'd yelled at Oliver on numerous occasions but he'd barely batted an eyelid, her sobbed apologies always accepted and often deemed unnecessary.

When Oliver and Diggle had dropped her home, she noticed that her apartment was unusually clean and that there was what appeared to be a canvas camping stretcher set up under her breakfast bar.

She turned back to Oliver, pointing at the cot with an eyebrow raised.

"Diggle and I agreed that one of us will always be here with you, at least for the next couple of weeks," Oliver explained.

"No," she shook her head.

"Yes, Felicity you need help," Oliver argued.

"Not yours!" she yelled, throwing her bag on the floor. She started to feel nauseous and instantly slick with sweat.

Oliver noticed her flushed cheeks and, ignoring the internal hurt, took her hand, sat her down on the sofa and gave her a glass of water.

"Would you prefer Dig to stay with you?" Oliver rubbed her back, feeling her t-shirt sticking to her clammy skin.

She shook her head and looked in Diggle's direction, "Sorry."

"It's okay, Felicity," Diggle looked a little relieved.

"Sorry," she turned back to Oliver, biting her lip and trying to hold back tears.

"Apology uncalled-for," Oliver smiled at her.

She hated feeling like this. Her mood swung back and forth with more force than when she was on her period. She'd been told she had post-concussion syndrome, like so many other people who have suffered a brain injury. She was going to have headaches, feel sick and irritable as well as a plethora of other symptoms for up to two months. She was already done with it.

"I'm going to grab you guys some groceries," Diggle announced and left after kissing Felicity atop her head, which was starting to prickle with new growth.

"I need," she paused, trying to think of the word she was after and failing to find it, settled for something else, "hair."

"A wig?" Oliver suggested.

"Yes."

"Do you want to go shopping with Laurel?"

Felicity shook her head.

"Thea?"

Again, a small headshake.

"How about we shop online, see what we can find?" Oliver opened the laptop on the coffee table.

Felicity nodded suspiciously.

"What?" Oliver smiled, observing her distrust out of the corner of his eye.

"This is very," she annoyingly had to pause again to find the word, "Un-Oliver like."

"Un-Oliver like?" he almost giggled, making Felicity smile.

Ten minutes later they had picked out a cute blonde wig that was a tad lighter than Felicity's (un)natural blonde. It was set to arrive in three days.

"Thank you," Felicity said.

Oliver put an arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead.

"You're my friend, and I love you." It was becoming his catch phrase.

The day the wig arrived, Felicity was keen to return to the lair and despite all of Oliver's protests that she should take her time she was making her way down the stairs, with the aid of her walking stick, as he was suiting up.

"It's been a while," he individually shook all his limbs to loosen the leather which had constricted over time.

Felicity sat down at her monitors and, practised in her movements, switched everything on and adjusted the screens so she could see all three with only a small turn of her head. Her tablet was plugged in and sitting right in front of her. She hooked the comm link over her ear and turned to face Oliver and Diggle, a triumphant smile on her face.

"Looking good, Smoak," Diggle grinned.

"Thank you," she nodded.

Twenty minutes into Oliver and Diggle breaking into a highly secured facility it all went sour.

"Felicity, I need directions to the top office," Oliver hissed.

"I know," she replied, her fingers working overtime on the keyboard as her left hand cramped. She tried to shake it out.

"Felicity," it was Diggle this time, "do you have a feed for the security cameras?"

"Yes," she replied, cracking her neck.

"Keep an eye on the security guards on level 11, they seemed a little jumpy when I last checked on them."

"I can't-"

"Felicity, I can hear someone coming," Oliver whispered and it sounded like he was crawling up the wall to hide.

"There's nobody there, I can't, there's nobody!" she exclaimed.

"Felicity, there's a phone call being taken in the conference room here, can you patch us into it?" DIggle asked.

There was no reply.

"Felicity!" Oliver murmured, holding himself in a crawl space in a dead end corridor.

He could only hear the buzz of the comm link.

He repeated her name.

Nothing.

"Diggle, have I lost comms?" he asked.

"No, I can't get onto her either."

"Shit."

"Are we abandoning this?" Diggle asked.

"Yep, see you back at the club."

Oliver dropped almost inaudibly from his hiding spot and peered around the corner. He made a beeline for the fire stairs, down to the basement and out the small window.

* * *

"Felicity!" Oliver hollered, taking the first few steps down to the lair, then throwing himself over the handrail.

Her desk was empty, the chair pushed back, her earpiece hanging from the table and her walking stick laying on the floor.

Oliver paused, pushing the hood off his head and turning in a full circle.

"Felicity?" he spoke softly this time.

"O-Oliver?" came a hiccupped reply.

The tiny voice came from the corner of the lair, Oliver spotting Felicity's bare toes wiggling in the small space between the sofa and the wall.

"Hey," he was squatted in front of her in seconds.

Felicity was sniffing, her breath hitching, as tears streamed down her face.

"Too much," she sobbed, coughing.

"Ssh, ssh, ssh," he soothed.

He pushed the plush sofa away, creating more room for him to squeeze in next to her. The wooden feet squeaked as they were pushed along the polished concrete floor and Felicity jumped, crying out.

"It's okay, it's okay," he assured her, squatting in front of her again, placing warm hands on her bare knees. Felicity's arms were tucked underneath her, holding her skirt in order to maintain some of her modesty.

"I couldn't… keep up."

"I know."

"Sorry."

"Felicity…" he warned.

"I felt… too much… pressure."

"I'm sorry," Oliver sighed, pursing his lips.

"Disappointed?" her big, lost eyes met his for the first time.

"Never," he replied, not missing a beat.

He wedged himself in the small space he created, his shoulder brushing Felicity's. He brought his knees up, putting his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling in front of him.

"So, we'll wait a little bit, wait for you to feel better," Oliver shrugged.

Felicity wrapped her arms around Oliver's, the one that was closest to her, squeezing it tightly and pulling it into her lap. It was a little awkward for the leather clad vigilante, but he didn't try and move.

Felicity hiccupped once more and then lent towards Oliver, her head resting on his shoulder.


	6. Chapter 6

**Okie dokie artichokies, a snappy update for my snazzy reviewers!**

* * *

"Take your time," Oliver said softly, with only slight impatience in his voice.

He held a flashcard up in front of Felicity. A stack of them, filled with pictures of which she had trouble finding words for, were face down on the table.

"I don't know," Felicity shrugged.

"Just… Just speak, and the word might come to you," Oliver suggested.

"It's, it's the thing that you put in the… washing machine," she started.

"Not washing machine, dishwasher," Oliver corrected.

"In the dishwasher," she continued, uncertainly.

"You also carry one around with you, not everyone, but you specifically," Oliver explained, "and you take them when you have a headache."

Felicity stared at the picture, he eyebrow furrowed in concentration.

"Starts with a t."

"Nope," she shook her head, sitting back against the chair.

"Tablet," Oliver insisted.

"I can't think!" Felicity exclaimed, standing up with such ferocity that her chair tipped over.

Oliver sighed and met her eyes.

"Don't… look at me like that!"

"I'm not looking at you like anything!"

"That's not… good English!"

Felicity's hands were fists at her side and she glared at Oliver.

Oliver looked down at his hands, which had crumpled the flashcard out of frustration. He was having a hard time dealing with the loss of his funny, smart, sassy, remarkable IT EA. He knew that she was there, but it was like someone had taken the neat filing system that was Felicity's genius mind and upended it. And it felt like it was taking weeks to put it all back in order.

He felt like Felicity's ability to control her emotions wasn't getting any better, in fact, it was getting worse. She was moody and when she was frustrated, her reactions were beyond explainable. She cried and yelled and shouted. Her short temper was something that Oliver was not used to yet. She was never particularly aggressive towards him during any of her outbursts, but her vicious words, directed mainly at her own inability to do anything right, made Oliver feel helpless.

So often when she yelled at him, she was unable to come up with the word she wanted to use and in its place would say 'whatever'. The angrier she was, the more her sentence sounded like a crazed lunatic chanting the word 'whatever' with different inflections.

_"Didn't expect to see you here," Diggle strode across the open room of the lair as Oliver pounded a dummy._

_Getting no response other than a grunt from him, Diggle stood on the other side of the dummy, his arms across his chest, regarding Oliver with an unreadable face._

_"What, Dig?" Oliver eventually snapped, standing up straight and throwing his arms out to the side._

_"How's Felicity?"_

_"She's pissed at me, she yelled at me, then told me to leave," he explained._

_"So you just left?" Diggle accused._

_"No, Dig, the tiny psychopath threw apples and oranges at me, followed by her hand weights, then her walking stick, it bruised my arm."_

_"Aw, diddums," DIggle jested._

_Oliver paused to sip from a water bottle, which he promptly slammed on the table, the plastic giving out, water pouring all over the table then the floor._

_Neither man took any notice of it._

_"This is my fault, John!" Oliver exploded. "My fault! And I can't fix it!"_

_Diggle calmly held Oliver's distraught gaze until the guilt-ridden man spun indignantly on his heel and locked himself in the bathroom._

_Diggle sat down, tired and aching, preparing himself to wait as long as it took for Oliver to swallow his colossal pride. As it happened, it didn't take very long at all. _

_Mainly because Oliver was still as self-deprecatingly venomous as he had been all of two minutes ago._

_"And another thing, Diggle," he pointed a critical finger in the bodyguard's direction, "Who are you to poke fun at me, I'm working my arse off here!"_

_Diggle gave Oliver a few moments of silence to see if he wanted time to compose himself or if he needed to spit more words in his direction._

_Deciding that neither was the case, Diggle made sure his words were spoken evenly, without breaking his timing, to make sure Oliver heard everything._

_"Oliver Queen, you have had ample opportunity to walk away from Felicity, just as you have had ample opportunity to throw your arrows away and go back to being a drunken paparazzi punching play boy. You, sir, have done neither. You have made an admirable stand against the only life you ever knew, let me finish, Queen, or so help me God," Diggle had to break, seeing that Oliver was twitching for an opportunity to interrupt him._

_"She's still our Felicity, she's a little muddled, a little lost, a little angrier, with apparently better aim, but Oliver, she's still yours. You wouldn't be doing this for just anyone. She's something special and she's shown that time and time again in everything she has ever done for you. And yes, including the Doll Maker case. But she's not blaming you. Her pushing you away isn't blaming you. It's her trying to unburden you. She doesn't want you hanging up your hood because you're waiting for her to get better. She's convinced she's never going to fully recover!"_

_"Diggle…"_

_"She hates that she's having trouble stringing a sentence together, she can't even babble! She hates that she crumbled under pressure last week, she still hasn't forgiven herself. She's pushing herself so much harder than is necessary to please you. So, swallow your pride, ice your bruise, and you go" and tell her that she's damn near perfect and doesn't have to ask 'how high?' every time you tell her to jump!"_

"Felicity," Oliver was careful not to sound condescending, remembering Diggle's words.

She took a deep breath and let it out shakily.

"I can't be… perfect, Oliver," she whispered, pulling out another chair from the table and sitting down. "It's so hard."

"That's why Dig and I are here to help," he pressed.

"I'm trying to please everyone," she was speaking slowly, pacing herself to make sure she could find the right words. "And in doing that, I'm pleasing nobody."

"You're pleasing me just fine," Oliver assured her, knowing the innuendo would make her blush and smile.

Despite the tears in her eyes, as the flush crept up her neck, one side of her mouth pulled up, the dimple in her cheek becoming more pronounced.

"You don't have to be perfect, Felicity, you just have to be good enough," Oliver reached across the table and took her hand, "and you are."

A few tears fell and Felicity nodded, biting her lip.

"Thank you, Oliver."

"Let's go out," Oliver cleared his throat, needing a distraction from the feeling he got when Felicity continually said his name.

"Can we go to the nursery?" Felicity asked.

Oliver raised an eyebrow.

"I've decided to take up gardening, I need seeds," she grinned.

"Gardening? Right, that's doable," Oliver said, standing up, collecting his keys and wallet, "Let's go and get some seeds."

Felicity's grinned widened and Oliver's heart flipped.

"Flowers or vegetables?" Oliver asked, picking up Felicity's walking stick and handing it to her, placing a hand on the small of her back as the headed for the front door.

""Vegetables, it has to be practical," she scoffed.

Oliver's hope soared, a little glimpse of past Felicity peeking through.

"Lead the way, Martha Stewart."

* * *

**Alright, in light of me breaking my wrist, this will be the last chapter for a little while. The next chapter is slowly being tapped out, very slowly.**

**Please stick around.**

**I love you guys.**

**You have no idea how long this has taken me to type out. Ugh.**


	7. Chapter 7

**I've decided to make this the last chapter. My wrist is nearly healed, maybe another week in the cast, but I couldn't keep you waiting. Thanks to hoodsmoaked (for some quote inspiration) and samanthapetrelli on Tumblr for a huge injection on inspiration for the final part of this.**

**And thank YOU for taking the time to read this. Really.**

* * *

Felicity was out on her large balcony when Oliver had the realisation.

Half his wardrobe was at Felicity's, all his favourite books, his toiletries, and he no longer slept on the camp bed under the breakfast bar. He only ever went back to the mansion when his mother pressed him to or they were hosting a party of some description.

He and Felicity came and went from Queen Consolidated together every day, and when he came back from checking on things at the club, Felicity would always have dinner going, more and more often with things from her garden. They would sit down, usually with a nice glass of red, and in some sort of unspoken rule, talked about anything but QC and Arrow business.

After dinner, there was always some delicious dessert because Felicity had also taken up baking. The desserts, usually creamy and fruity, were delicious, but were not doing wonders for his waistline.

Sometimes Diggle would join them, and they would laugh and lose count of the servings of dessert they had, marvelling at Felicity's capacity for food, and ability to stay slim.

There had been a few times when Felicity had come in from the deck, sobbing inconsolably, and it had taken Oliver fifteen minutes to calm her down enough to understand that one of her seedlings, which she was growing in test tubes pilfered from Applied Sciences, had died.

He was watching her pick out small weeds, humming tunelessly to herself, when he began to comprehend exactly what was happening.

In a tight black singlet under an opened pale pink linen shirt and a pair of denim shorts, just short enough to make Oliver wonder, the barefoot Felicity, bopping and swaying to her own tunes, was a picture of happiness. His picture of happiness.

"Oliver?" she called out.

"Mmm?" he pretended to glance up from the stack of paperwork he was holding.

"Can you come and help me start watering? The timer for the sprinkler is due to turn on soon, and I don't want to disrupt the settings, but I'm not quite done with the weeding yet," she was leaning back in the door, proffering the hose.

"Sure."

Moving off the lounge, Oliver stepped out into the late afternoon sun. He felt his skin prickle under the heavy warmth, the shorts and t-shirt he was wearing almost felt like too much. He pulled it up over his head and hung it on the door handle. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting out a sigh louder than he thought.

"You alright?" Felicity asked, her back to him, bent over one of four of the vegetable patches her and Oliver put together a little over three months ago.

"Yeah, just relaxing," he said softly, meaning it.

"Good," she replied, still not looking up from what Oliver thought were her radishes, "You deserve it, Oliver."

He did, didn't he? Oliver cocked his head to one side, rubbing his lips together thoughtfully. Felicity's lithe legs were still bopping to whatever she was humming, her toe's curling to keep her balance. There was a few little bum wiggles thrown in for good measure and Oliver wondered if she was even aware. It was in that moment that the sprinkler timer ticked over and a fine mist shot out of the end of the hose.

Felicity shot upright with a shriek, spinning around with an indignant look on her face.

"Sorry," Oliver was genuine but his smirk did not help his cause as he aimed the wayward spray of water at one of the garden beds.

She squinted at him, like she so often used to when questioning another one of his terrible lies, or when she was trying to hide her wayward stares.

Deciding that he could be forgiven this time, she turned back to the vibrantly green leaves.

"Oh look!" she exclaimed after a few minutes, skipping excitedly towards Oliver brandishing two bitesize radishes. "These ones will be so delicious!"

She held them under the hose, washing them slightly, before offering one to Oliver.

Felicity bit hers in half, a massive smile on her face, dimples as deep as ever. Oliver followed suit, savouring the sweet peppery bulb.

"Yum, right?" Felicity was still grinning.

Oliver didn't answer, instead he leant forward to plant a light kiss on her lips.

Felicity recoiled and gasped, then promptly started choking on the little bit of radish she hadn't finished yet.

Her face went red and her eyes watered as she coughed.

"I'll get you some water," Oliver was already half inside, rushing to the kitchen to get a glass.

He returned to Felicity who seemed to have everything under control but still gratefully accepted the tall glass.

"Thanks," she smiled, her face still red with exertion.

"Not a problem, Felicity,-"

"I know, I know, I'm your friend and you-"

"I do, I do love you, Felicity."

Her eyebrows hiked up her forehead and then turned into a frown as one hand reached to touch her lips.

"I'm sorry, you nearly choking to death is not how I envisioned that ending," he shrugged.

Felicity shook her head in a gesture of 'don't worry about it'.

She held up the leaves of her radish, gesturing at Oliver's.

"You don't want it?" she asked, hopping almost imperceptibly from one foot to the other.

Oliver's hand on her shoulder stilled her, and he closed the gap, his lips brushing her ear. He felt Felicity tense up. There were a few faltering breaths from both of them before he spoke.

"It's you I want."

* * *

The ray of sunshine from the two of them had always been Felicity. That had changed in the months following Felicity's accident. Oliver had needed to pull himself out of his own pit of despair to get Felicity out of hers. He had to get her out of there. And he did. He realised that as she started to get better, so did he.

Originally, he was pretending to be cheery and positive for her sake, keeping face for times when Felicity launched hurtful objects and hurtful words at him. He had lost count of the number of times she had apologised for losing her temper. Just as he had lost count of how many times he had apologised for losing his.

The need for apologies had lessened in the past two months, Oliver's need to pretend to be happy had lessened as well.

In the end, it had been real.


End file.
